


There's No One Else

by Elizabeth Watson-Holmes (edye327)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Jarene, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Teenlock, au johnlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1704086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edye327/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Watson-Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU high school fic. John Watson is in his senior year, and thinks he has feelings for none other than seventeen-year-old Sherlock Holmes. Moreover, John's cousin, Janine, is relatively infatuated with Irene Adler - untouchable, intelligent, and best friends with Sherlock. For their part, Sherlock has harbored a crush on John for quite some time, and Irene, aloof as she is, can't help but feel something for Janine. Wrong numbers, sexting, awkward situations, and sentiment prevail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Look

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for a long time, and decided to post the first chapter to gauge interest. Dedicated to shezzae on tumblr.
> 
> Title is tentative - for some reason, I struggled mightily titling this, and broke down and used a phrase from Taylor Swift's "Hey Stephen." Please don't kill me.

Irene Adler was amused.

"What was that about?" Sherlock demanded, following her down the hallway and subtly adjusting his scarf.

"What was what?" she replied, feigning innocence. This was good. This was really, _really_ good.

"You _know_ what! I'm not blind, Irene. That look. The one you gave me in English class."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Irene smirked, twisting one corner of her mouth as she bit back laughter.

" _That_ look! Right there! What was that for?"

"We were taking a test. You shouldn't have been watching me."

"I wasn't," snapped Sherlock. "I... deduced."

"Mm-hm. Sure you did." She paused before the vending machine. "Doritos?"

"You're trying to divert me."

"Maybe I just enjoy listening to your rants about the chemical atrocities of junk food."

"Irene!" Sherlock shouted, actually stamping his foot in frustration. "I demand to know why you were mocking me! Did I do something humorous? Did you find the thing in your locker? Because that was a complete miscalculation on my part, and I’ll remove it just as soon as Molly’s come back with results.”

She ignored him, inserting a dollar and grabbing the bag of chips that fell out before heading towards the gymnasium. "So you weren't watching me."

"No," Sherlock insisted. "Of course I wasn’t watching you. Why on earth -”

" _Because_ ," Irene said triumphantly, spinning around for effect, "you were watching John Watson." And watched in unmasked glee as her best friend's face turned crimson.

* * *

"Bad day?" asked Janine, sliding next to John on the bus. He took his earphones out and nodded.

"Pretty sure I just bombed that English exam. I kind of bullshitted the majority of my essay." 

"It's a hard class," said Janine gently. "I've heard that it’s impossible to get above a B- with Parlman for a teacher."

"No, not impossible. Sherlock Holmes got an A+ last semester."

"Well, he's Sherlock," Janine said dismissively. "Nobody likes him."

"I dunno, I think he's alright. Kind of... cool. In an interesting sort of..." His voice petered out.

Janine raised an eyebrow dubiously. "Okay.” A moment of uncharacteristic silence prevailed as she struggled to understand exactly _why_ they were discussing the school’s poster child for insufferable geekdom. Moreover, this had been the third mention in the past few weeks, and she wasn’t sure what the freakishly smart junior had to do with anything. John idly rubbed a thumb along the edge of his phone case, offering no explanation. Giving up - he was in a weird mood, anyway - Janine continued, “I'm sure it'll be fine. You're plenty smart."

"Alright. If you say so."

She fixed him with a stern gaze. "You _are._ ”

“Thanks. What’s new with you?”

“I was actually getting to that. So Aunt Martha is coming over for dinner tonight, and your presence is requested.”

“Is she bringing the weird cousins?”

“Stop calling them that,” Janine said annoyedly. “They’re fine.”

“I don’t like Jim. He’s really disconcerting.”

“Well, they won’t be there, so it’ll just be us and Harry, if she can make it.” This she said quite delicately and with a near palpable attempt at tact.

John clenched his jaw regardless. “She probably can’t.”

“Okay,” Janine said quickly. “I just - sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, shaking his head. “She’s just not been doing so hot, and I don’t think Mum’ll be wanting her out of the house anytime soon.”

“Understood.” She hesitated. “If it really bothers you that much, you can try emailing the teacher.”

“What, the test? Nah, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“I could try tutoring you.”

John burst out laughing.

“What?” she said indignantly. “I’m not _dumb._ ”

“I love you dearly, but...”

“Fine, whatever. Guess you’re stuck with Sherlock Holmes.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“I said, I guess you’re stuck with him. I mean, he’s the only person in your class who’d be intelligent enough to -”

“Oh.”

“It was a _joke._ ”

“Right.”

“What’s with you and Sherlock? You’ve been bringing him up a lot lately. I didn’t know you guys were friends.”

“I - we’re not.”

“Okay...?”

“Okay!”

“Then why do you keep talking about him?”

“I’m not talking about him,” John said angrily.

“Aren’t we talking about him right now?”

“ _God_ , Jan, you can be annoying as fuck,” he said, and stared stonily out the window.

“Hey!” She grabbed his arm. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t care if you and Sherlock are friends.”

Her cousin said nothing.

“Granted, he’s a bit odd. I think he’s just too awkward and too intelligent to fit in, really. Except with Irene Adler.” She suppressed a dreamy sigh. Irene was bold, clever, and, in Janine’s humble opinion, rather painfully attractive. “Rumor is that they’re dating.”

“Fine. Good. Good.”

“John?”

“I’m not gay,” he blurted out quite suddenly.

Come again? “Whoa there. Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“That was a bit of a non sequitur, is all.”

“Listen, I had a shitty day, I think I just need to... think about things.” He was already scrolling through playlists on his phone. “I’ll see you tonight, ‘kay? Yours, at around 6:30.”

“Sounds good,” Janine said, still nonplussed, and rode the rest of the way home wondering what it was about Sherlock Holmes that had her cousin’s panties in a bunch, and why John, out of nowhere, had felt so compelled to announce that he wasn’t gay.

 


	2. Interrogations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene interrogates a terrified John, who definitely doesn't have feelings for Sherlock; and Janine, who definitely isn't happy to discover Irene's sexuality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

John did not generally associate with juniors and were he to guess at a seventeen-year-old with whom he might be trapped in - for lack of a better word - an interrogation, it would definitely not be Irene Adler.

“Look at me, John,” she said, snapping her fingers in his face. He flinched and edged towards the water fountain by the boys’ bathroom. “I’m asking you a simple question.”

“Sorry, I don’t know - what are you - ?”

She sighed impatiently. “Are you interested in Sherlock?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I barely -”

“You can be in love with someone without having talked to them.”

“Er... no. No. Okay, yes. Maybe. Theoretically.”

Her gaze was sharp and penetrating and very uncomfortable. “Theoretically you have feelings for Sherlock?”

“No!” A passing group of freshman started, then proceeded to whisper amongst themselves. He and Irene certainly made an odd pair: she with her raven black hair and sharp features and somehow simultaneously promiscuous and classy attire, he with his rumpled cardigan and jeans and scuffed loafers. “No,” he repeated emphatically. “I meant that maybe you could fall - you know, if you hadn’t talked to them before - in some rare cases, I suppose.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re getting flustered.”

“Because this is fucking awkward!”

“No, you’re hiding something.”

“Am _not,_ ” retorted John, realizing how petulant he sounded and not giving a shit. He made it a point to avoid trouble, and Irene’s iron grip was the epitome of trouble. When he moved to flee, she seized his elbow and pulled him back against the wall.

“I need answers,” she said in a low voice. “It’s critical.”

Her chest was literally staring John in the face. John felt himself start to blush, and really, really did not want to exist. Pretty, dangerous girls should not be a thing. “I -”

“Listen to me. I need to know if Sherlock has a chance with you.”

“Irene, I don’t even _know_ you, so why you think you could come barging in just like that and -”

“Oh, please. You and your petty details and rules and morals. No wonder Sherlock tires of this.”

“Excuse me. He tires of what?”

“You. Ordinary people, with inhibition and boundaries and discouragingly low IQs.”

“I don’t have a low IQ - this is ridiculous.” He crossed his arms defiantly. “I’m not going to talk to you about Sherlock. He’s all yours.”

She blinked, appearing dumbstruck. “All mine?”

“All.” He flung out his hands to demonstrate exactly how much. “Just, you know... don’t kill me.”

“Why would I _want_ Sherlock to be mine?”

“Aren’t the two of you dating?”

“ _Dating?_ ”

“Wait. Just so we’re on the same page here.” John cleared his throat and licked his lips nervously. “This isn’t about you being jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous?”

“I thought... wow. Okay. I...”

“Does that change your answer, then?”

“What? No! No, not at all. I barely talk to him.”

“Ah. But you admitted yourself that it’s possible to fall in love with people you haven’t -”

“I’M NOT FUCKING IN LOVE!” John shouted, then instantly regretted this outburst as the principal came striding towards him, looking rather not pleased.

“There are classes going on,” Irene hissed, leaning slightly to press her lips against his ear. She sounded disapproving, though her complacent smirk would say otherwise. “Contain yourself.”

“I - shit, he’s going to yell at me!”

“You shouldn’t have screamed in the first place.” Irene straightened up, clearly self-satisfied, and adjusted her crop top. “Thanks for the information. I’ll keep it in mind.”

* * *

“I hate Irene Adler,” John said, picking moodily at the hamburger on his tray.

“She seems nice,” replied Janine, leaving off the “and I kind of have a major crush on her” part.

“She practically attacked me today.”

“What? She talked to you?”

He stared dryly at her. “Yes. Surprising as it is, Jan, sometimes girls talk to me who aren’t you.”

“Sorry, sorry. Continue.”

“She wanted to know about...” He paused, whether out of hesitance or drama Janine couldn’t discern. “Sherlock.”

“What? Was she jealous?”

“Of what? There’s nothing to be jea - okay, can everybody just - for the record, I don’t _like_ Sherlock, I don’t _want_ him, and most importantly, I AM NOT GAY!”

Janine shot him a panic-stricken, _please shut up this instant if you know what’s good for you_ look and, at the unspoken question, nodded subtly to somewhere above his shoulder, where Sherlock Holmes just happened to be passing behind their table. A fleeting and unreadable expression crossed the junior’s face and then he was gone, leaving John stuttering and searching about for a black hole into which he might jump.

“That was so bad,” he groaned, shoving his face into his hands.

“That was painful,” Janine admitted, grimacing. “He took it well, though.”

“Still painful.”

Janine had other priorities. “So... Irene.”

“Well, she just asked if I liked him.”

His cousin raised an eyebrow keenly. “And do you?”

“How many times do I have to -”

It all happened so fast. Their topic of conversation materialized out of nowhere, grasped Janine by the upper arm and yanked her into the hallway before the senior could so much as yelp.

“Janine, is it? Right. Great.”

Janine stared, open-mouthed. The gorgeous Irene Adler had just spoken to her, had just _abducted_ her, and this really should not be as exhilarating as it was.

“You’re cousins with John Watson, right?”

“Er... yes.”

“You hesitated.” She spoke quickly, with the air of someone well-aware of their cleverness.

“What, do you think I’m faking it?”

God, she was beautiful. Today was a red lipstick day, paired with thick lashes and a streak of shimmery turquoise gel eyeliner, all contrasted against flawless porcelain skin. Her hair fell in waves around her face, and Janine gulped as she took in the outfit of the hour: navy crop top with lacy cup sleeves; high-waisted, inappropriately short dark shorts; and black patent stilettos.

This was super distracting.

Irene scrutinized her. “Janine?”

“What?” Stare at the wall. The wall. Anywhere, really. Oh, windows were nice. Look, a window.

“John Watson,” Irene said slowly. Her mouth was a liability. “Does he have feelings for Sherlock?”

“Your boyfriend?”

Irene shot her a disparaging look. “He is _not_ my boyfriend.”

“ _What?_ Really?” 

The younger girl’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Of course not. Why?”

“Hm?” Oh god oh god oh god. Irene was single. That didn’t mean she was gay, of course, but maybe...

“You sounded excited at that prospect. Me, being unattached. Why?”

“Oh. Uh. I don’t really...”

“If you want to set me up with your cousin, the answer’s already a no. His height is the first in a long line of deal-breakers.”

“John’s fun-sized,” said Janine defensively, and immediately wanted to kick herself.

“Oh-ho! Is that what your family’s told him all these years?”

“I -”

Irene was smiling at her. Irene Adler was _smiling_ at her. “I was kidding, relax. I wouldn’t date a guy.”

Excuse me? “Ah. So, you...?”

Irene waited.

“Are you...?”

Silence. Was that a smirk? God damn.

“So I suppose...”

“If you’re trying to ask whether or not I’m homosexual, you are failing miserably, but yes. I am.”

“Oh.” 

“Oh indeed. I’m sure that was enlightening information.” Janine remained speechless until Irene said briskly, “Back to business, then.”

“I don’t know about John, okay? I have no idea, honestly. Just that he’s been talking about Sherlock a lot because they’re in the same class or whatever.”

“Thanks,” Irene said, and abruptly moved to leave.

“Wait!”

The junior turned around and adjusted her fashionably distressed book bag. “Yes?”

“Um, nothing.”

Irene gave a curt nod and walked away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos/comment/bookmark if you're interested in me continuing :)


	3. Withheld Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene sexts a wrong number, Janine receives an anonymous photo over text. Sherlock doesn't deny that he's in love with John. And the usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So nobody's really been responding to this fic much, so I'm a bit discouraged, but I thought I would post chapter 3 anyways and see if it gets a response. Cheers!

“Please don’t sext while we’re studying. It’s dreadfully rude,” drawled Sherlock, not even bothering to glance up from his physics textbook.

Irene adjusted herself and licked lipstick off her teeth. “I didn’t say you couldn’t quiz me. Go on. Ask me a question.”

“Alright. Who are you sexting?”

“That has nothing to do with physics.” Clad in only a pushup bra and soffe shorts, Irene came to sit next to her best friend. “It’s some guy I met at a party a few weeks ago.”

Sherlock peered at her phone screen and tsked. “Terrible lighting in here.”

“Well, I’m not about to march into your mum’s kitchen and expose my... profession.”

Sherlock scoffed. “It’s not a profession. You send a variety of men nude or semi-nude photos just for fun. Forgive me if I seem condescending, but you’re a bit young to have a legitimate career in this vein.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“So what has he said so far? Anything mindblowingly dignified?”

“I don’t know, he has yet to respond. Oh, he’s typing.”

Sherlock leaned over. “‘Who is this?’” he read. “Ah, excellent. What a promising start to a sexual relationship. Confined, one might note, only to technological modes of communication. Charming.”

Irene shrugged noncommittally and unclasped her bra, snapping a photo and hitting ‘send.’ “That should remind him.”

“Out of curiosity, why do you do this?”

“Why do I sext around you, or why do I sext?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“One, you’re my best friend, and accepting, and you’re like me. You’re intelligent and you understand that this is who I am, and I have no worries about you taking advantage of me because you’re in love with John Watson. Two, because it’s fun. I don’t mind having that reputation.”

“To each his own.” Sherlock shook his head at the problem he was solving and reached for the eraser.

“He-ey,” Irene said keenly, biting back a triumphant grin. “You didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?”

“That you’re in love with John Watson.”

“Nonsense.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I am not blushing.”

“Liar.”

“I am not lying. You made a statement and I am merely discrediting it.”

“Yeah, okay. You’re withholding the truth and we both know it.”

“Withholding what truth?”

“That you’re in love with John Watson,” Irene repeated, grinning, and Sherlock became very interested in finding the electromotive force of a 12-volt battery.

* * *

“Holy shit.”

John paused the TV and looked at Janine. “What?”

She was turning scarlet. “Nothing,” she said quickly.

“Okay,” he said skeptically, and resumed watching _The Office._ “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, it’s... nothing.”

“You’re not up to anything scandalous, are you?”

“No,” she said just as her phone vibrated and, upon reading whatever the text said, her color increased in intensity by at least a factor of ten.

“If you say so. Pass the chips?”

“Save room for dinner, please!” called Aunt Martha from the kitchen, where she was chatting animatedly with Janine’s mother.

“Okay!” John shouted back, rolling his eyes and reaching into the popcorn bowl instead. “I’m starving.”

Martha could only stand keeping her mouth shut for so long. “Jan-bear? We could use your help in here!”

“Fine,” grumbled Janine, getting up and heading for the other room.

The second she left, John grabbed her phone and scanned the inbox. Ah. An unknown number. He tapped on the conversation and dropped the mobile device like it was on fire.

Those were boobs. Those were definitely, definitely boobs, and Janine had been staring at them. No face was included in the photos, but that was probably a good thing.

What in the world had she gotten herself into?


	4. Sentiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is wounded after overhearing John's proclamation that he doesn't want Sherlock. Irene struggles to explain the concept of denial.

Sherlock hadn’t moved from the bed, where he lay with long legs splayed out and dangling off the corners, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Irene finished her calculus homework and started packing up.

“Don’t leave,” Sherlock said suddenly.

“Why not? You’re just sulking.”

He cast her a disparaging look. “I’m thinking, Irene. There’s a difference.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Anyway,” she continued, “you’ve been quiet all afternoon.”

“I heard John say something today and I’m not entirely sure how to process it.”

She dropped her bag onto his desk and sat beside him as he swung his feet onto the floor. “Yeah?”

His brow was furrowed, fingers steepled. “I’m afraid I’ve no idea how to process it, actually.”

“Why’s that?”

“Sentiment.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“Yes.” He paused, taking a quick breath, then asked, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Associate with so many guys - when, as we both know, you aren’t even interested in them - without becoming attached?”

“Well, I guess... because like you said, I’m not attracted to them. I’m not repelled by them, either, and I have fun. But I haven’t met anyone who I want to forge some emotional connection with. Maybe it’s safer.” She hesitated, then said all in a rush, “With guys, I don’t run the risk of sentiment. With girls I do. Any kind of admiration is... desirable, and I’d rather have objective admiration than, you know. Sentiment.” Too much of an admission?

Sherlock took it in stride. “Really.”

“Really.”

He fell silent. Then, “John said that he didn’t want me.”

Irene’s head snapped up. “What?”

“He was talking to his cousin in the cafeteria and he yelled something about not being gay, and not wanting me. It shouldn’t have bothered me so, but it is.”

“He’s - it’s called denial,” Irene struggled to explain. Detached from emotion as she herself was, guiding Sherlock through the whole feelings situation was always a clumsy affair. “It doesn’t mean he meant it.”

Sherlock frowned. “If he didn’t mean it, why would he say it?”

“Because he doesn’t want to fess up.”

“To what? Surely the feelings aren’t reciprocated.”

Irene quirked an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t jump to conclusions there.”

“I would. If he’s interested in me, then why not approach me about it?”

“Why not approach him?”

“I...”

“There,” she said, patting him on the knee. “There’s your problem. Neither of you are initiating. You’ve barely even spoken, you hardly know him, and he’s not a guy who’s going to voluntarily come to you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sherlock spat. “He should have deduced -”

“ _Sherlock._ Not everybody’s as intelligent as we are, remember?”

“But isn’t it obvious -”

“To me, yes. I’ve known you far too long and I’m too insightful for my own good. Not to him. Forgive me, but he is rather ordinary.”

“Please. John Watson is not ordinary.” Sherlock sounded legitimately frosty. Wow. So he really liked the kid.

“Fine. I take it back. Point is,” said Irene, standing, “he doesn’t know what you want, and he’s angry because he’s attracted to you - don’t make me explain why he’s pissed, I’m really hungry and it’s taco night at my place - and you just need to talk to him.”

“I can’t -”

She was already out the door.

“Irene!” he yelled, then contemplated going after her. Deciding that the effort wasn’t worth it, he reached for his phone and, sighing resignedly, shot off a text.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for anyone who's reading this! Still feeling rather pathetic as this has gotten very little notice, but since I've got up to chapter 10 written I thought I might as well continue posting until I get to that point and decide if I should discontinue or not.


	5. Seating Chart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new seating chart in English. John and Sherlock share a desk, and a moment during class.

John really hated his English teacher sometimes. He also hated (most plausibly) Irene, and possibly Janine, and in general the entire universe was clearly conspiring against him.

“As it is the beginning of the new semester, we will be changing seats. Some of you” - Mrs. Parlman glared pointedly at Delia Bennett and Rose McKinnon, best friends who spent the majority of class giggling at the back of the room - “have egregiously taken advantage of the seating arrangement to disrupt the entire student body.” Neither girl looked remotely repentant. “At any rate.” She turned her glare on John. “John Watson, you’re sitting next to Sherlock Holmes. Please don’t complain.”

“I -”

“Very good. Excellent. I can rest assured that you two will want nothing to do with each other.”

John licked his lips and glanced at Sherlock, whose face remained impassive.

“John, please take your seat.”

Feeling extremely trapped, John hesitantly slid into the chair. Sherlock followed suit, placing his calculator on the table and folding his hands.

“Thank you.” She turned to the rest of the class and began placing them as well.

“Hello,” Sherlock said stiffly. The gesture was so unexpected that John, already panicking, nearly fell onto the ground.

“Er... hi,” he stammered. “Are you... how are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

“Good. That’s - that’s good. It’s all good.” Good. Good. Sherlock was good. He was more than good. How did he make his hair that perfect? Those fucking _curls_ would be the death of him. And the guy’s eyes, for Christ’s sake -

But John Watson was most definitely not gay.

He straightened and determinedly stared at the whiteboard.

“Pity,” Sherlock murmured a moment later.

“What’s that?”

“Mrs. Parlman. She’s in a particularly tetchy mood today. Her cat died, by the looks of it.”

“How did you...?”

“Obvious,” he said offhandedly. “She normally revels in being a moronic educator. Not today. She’s in a genuinely bad mood, her shoulders are tenser than usual, and she’s been crying - bags under her eyes poorly concealed with too much makeup for a woman her age, red cheeks. She’s also wearing black, her subtle way of mourning. We already know she’s divorced as of 2002 and her boyfriend, who she met at an office party, recently dumped her” - “We do?” said John, flummoxed - “and she usually has cat hair all over her pantsuit from sleeping with it. Ginger cat, poor choice. Moreover, she isn’t jingling as much, and it takes one look to notice that her cat’s tag is missing from her keyring.”

John stared. “That was...”

“Rudimentary. Ah, we’re starting.” Sherlock reached across John to steal a sheet of lined paper, his arm brushing (deliberately?) against John’s shoulder and hand. “Thank you. I never carry notebooks; they’re tedious.”

“You’re welcome,” stuttered John, but Sherlock was already frowning at the page and didn’t appear to hear or care about the feeble attempt to be remotely socially ept.

Mrs. Parlman lectured at them the entire block, and, as per usual, John zoned out within the first three minutes. By minute seven, he was a. planning to murder Irene, because she had definitely played a hand in this unfortunate turn of events, and b. pretty sure that he was going to die of boredom.

That is, until Sherlock’s knee was suddenly resting firmly against his, and John lost all traces of coherent thought. It wasn’t even that great of a knee, for god’s sake. It was bony, but warm, and he could have sworn Sherlock shifted infinitesimally closer, to the point where they were nearly thigh to thigh, and he didn’t notice that the bell had rung until Sherlock moved, gave a tiny smirk, and whisked off with his perfect hair and gorgeous eyes before John could so much as reach for his pencil case.

 

* * *

“Did you talk to Mrs. Parlman? Tell me,” Sherlock demanded, glaring at Irene.

“No, why?”

“Because she’s seated John and I next to each other -”

Irene’s face lit up devilishly. “Really?”

“What did you do? Did I miss something? What intelligence did you exploit to force Parlman into this despicable act?”

“Nothing.”

Sherlock grabbed his best friend by the shoulders and shook her. “I insist that you tell me now!”

Irene, mildly alarmed, pushed him gently aside. “I wasn’t involved in that plot twist, but I’d gladly see what I can do to help -”

“No!” Sherlock stabbed a finger in her direction. “You will stay out of this.”

“Oh, please. I think we both know that’s not quite true.”

They stood for a moment, arms crossed, eyes locked, in the center of the local college’s library. Being superior students, the two of them were dual-enrolled in statistics, calculus, and chemistry courses there, though they took humanities at their high school.

Irene’s phone trilled. “Ride’s here. Either come with me or walk home.”

Sherlock sniffed angrily. “Fine,” he said, and followed her out the door.

 

* * *

“What’s got you all ruffled up?” asked Janine. She and John had eighth period off together, and were getting smoothies down the street from the school.

“New seating chart in English,” John grumbled, swirling his drink around with a straw.

“Oh, good lord. Are you sitting next to Chris again?”

“Worse.”

“Gavin?”

“Worse.”

“Phil?”

“Even worse.”

“Worse than Phil Brown? Good lord. Who, then?”

John shook his head woefully. “Sherlock.”

Janine gaped at him, then a slow smile spread across her face. “That’s cute. That’s really cute. You guys can be partners and do projects together and make silly posters about rhetoric -”

“Jan! Pull it together!”

“Sorry. Am I supposed to be mad that you’re now sitting next to the love of your life?”

“No, I - I don’t know! I’m trying to -” Anguished, John looked helplessly at his cousin. “Janine... I think...”

“Say it, you idiot.”

“I think I might - it’s absurd, don’t laugh - I think -”

“Remember mini golf in second grade? April vacation? The scoring sheet incident? Yeah. I’m going to punch you for real this time.”

He glanced around to see that nobody was listening, and leaned in. “I think I might have feelings for Sherlock Holmes,” John whispered, and chucked a sugar packet at Janine when she grinned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo comments! Thank you so much for doing that, and for anyone who's left kudos. Please continue to do so as it always makes me so happy to see that others are enjoying my writing!


	6. The Mall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Close encounters ensue when Irene and Sherlock and John and Janine happen to be at the mall at the same time.

“Bored,” sighed Sherlock.

“This is supposed to be _fun,_ ” said Irene.

“I hate malls.”

“Then the obvious question begs: why would Sherlock Holmes ever do anything he hates? This way.” Irene steered him towards Urban Outfitters.

“Because it was with you,” said Sherlock matter-of-factly. “You know you’re the exception.”

She smirked. “Flattered. Now, what’s the real reason?”

“I gave it to you. You are my best friend.”

“Maybe.”

“Irene!”

“What? Do you like this?”

“Why would you wear that?”

“I dunno. I think my chest looks good in it, don’t you?” She held the bralette top to her shoulders.

“I suppose it does, yes.”

“Thanks for your enthusiasm.” She folded it over her arm. “After this we’ve got to stop by M.A.C and check out the lipstick situation.”

Sherlock followed her to the dresses. “You are already in possession of far too many lipsticks,” he said critically, and cringed as a pink-haired, nose-pierced, scantily-clad woman walked past.

“You can never have too many lipsticks.”

“They’re all essentially the same color. Differences in hues are subtle. Only I would notice them.”

“What about this?” She dangled a romper in front of him.

“Extremely low cut. The V-neck extends to your belly button.” Sherlock paused. “Seems your style.”

She winked. “That’s my boy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Are we almost done here?”

“Far from it.”

“I don’t know why you waste so much money on attire when you spend the majority of your time at home unclothed.” Irene ignored him. “Speaking of, whatever came of that charming young man who didn’t remember you?”

“Oh. That.” She became very busy with the price tag of a hideous-looking cardigan. “Er. It turned out that it wasn’t a young man after all.”

“Oh? Did you send nudes to a crotchety old man, then?”

“No. It was actually... a girl.”

Sherlock sighed. “As the saying goes, ‘it’s about time.’ Do you know her?”

“Actually, no.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know who she is.”

“No.”

“Has she acted... interested?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I mean... she’s sent pictures back.”

“Have you had actual conversations, or just exchanging of sexually explicit content?”

“Some, yeah.”

“Oh god.” Sherlock stopped still, and held up a hand when Irene attempted to push past him. “Is this... _sentiment?_ ”

“No! I don’t even know her.”

“I think you like her. You should probably ask for her identity first, though.”

“We’ve agreed not to expose that information.”

“If you hand me your phone I can expose it right now.”

“No!” Irene repeated, snatching protectively at her pocket. “It’s fine. It’s under control.”

“By ‘actual conversations’ do you mean 3 am heart-to-hearts or the textual equivalent to -”

“Shut up,” hissed Irene, and ducked behind a mannequin.

“What are you doing? Are you - ah. Hello, Janine,” Sherlock said carefully, scooting over so as to conceal his friend. “Lovely seeing you today. I suppose you’ve spent the past month’s babysitting money already.”

“How do you know I babysit...? Never mind. I was just popping in to return something, anyway.”

“Right. Excellent.” Sherlock rocked on the balls of his feet. “So.”

She scrutinized him strangely, then shook her head, gave a little wave, and walked off.

* * *

“I loathe shopping,” said Sherlock conversationally, as Irene dragged him towards American Eagle.

“Oh, cut it out, you sad gay baby.”

“Excuse me? I could leave, right now, you know. I could leave and I could tell -”

“Yeah, yeah. But you won’t.” Irene reached for a flannel. “Thoughts?”

“Oddly conservative for you.”

“Obviously I’d tie it up and pair it with that push-up bra from _Victoria’s Secret._ ”

“And send it to your mystery sexting partner?”

Irene turned vaguely pink. “No.”

“She really doesn’t have a name, huh.”

“Let it go.” 

“I’m only saying that if you’re so scared of sentiment, then -”

“I said, let it _go_ , Sherlock,” Irene said sharply, and turned her back on him.

“I -”

When she spoke a few seconds later, her voice was level, and she was displaying another top. “What about this one?”

Sherlock grunted in response.

“You’re the worst,” she snapped.

“What am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know, something about how I’m beautiful and majestic and everything to you and you feel bad for bothering me about that person I’ve been talking to?”

“That person you’ve been sending sexual pictures to, who could quite possibly be a pedophile, or a murderer, for all we know, storing photographs of -”

“STOP IT!” shouted Irene, and Sherlock jumped. “Just - just leave me alone about it, okay?”

“Sentiment -”

“Fucking e _nough_ about sentiment, Sherlock!” She grabbed at a pair of skinny jeans with shaking hands.

“Irene, I’m...”

“Don’t.”

“No, really.” Sherlock grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry I’m an insufferable... dickhead. Sometimes.”

“Sherlock.”

“Okay, most of the time. I’m sorry, okay? I should have been more... used more...”

“Tact?”

“Yes, that’s it. Tact. Um. And.”

“This is the sorriest apology I’ve heard in my life.”

“Okay, you’re beautiful and - excuse me, sorry” - Sherlock bumped into someone behind him as he moved to face Irene - “majestic and” - he wracked his brain for the other part - “everything to me.”

He heard a suppressed splutter next to him, at which point he turned, made eye contact with John Watson, and froze just as the eighteen-year-old stood, evidently also frozen, before panicking and making a run for it through the entrance door.

“Well, there goes the reason you agreed to come to the mall,” said Irene wryly.

* * *

"I saw Sherlock," Janine said at the same as John blurted out, "Irene lied." 

"Okay, you first," said Janine, heart beating fast with (misplaced?) trepidation. 

"I ran into them and I was walking by and I hear Sherlock saying something to her and it sounded pretty couple-y to me."

“So you think they’re... dating?”

John glared at his sandwich. “I don’t know. He seems into her.” He grimaced. “I mean, if you think about it. They’re...”

“A good couple,” said Janine quietly. “I know.”

“I just, I guess I had this feeling - or I thought - I thought Sherlock might be interested in me, and he and Irene didn’t seem to have _that_ kind of chemistry.”

“I know,” repeated Janine. She really shouldn’t be so disappointed. Irene barely noticed her, and although their relationship had progressed to head nods in the hallway, they’d hardly had an understanding.

“It’s fine for you,” said John, poking a fork in her direction. “At least you’ve got that mystery number going on.”

“I still can’t believe you violated my privacy like that,” Janine said, shaking her head. “It was _personal._ ”

“You were going to tell me at some point.”

“Yeah, but maybe after I’d found out who it was.”

“But you still don’t know, so here we are.” He paused. “It’s definitely a girl.”

“If my knowledge of female anatomy is correct, then yes.”

“And you’re... into her? Sort of?”

“She’s attractive.”

“So you’re definitely gay.”

“Maybe. Not exclusively. I haven’t dated many guys.”

“Maybe you’re just socially inept.”

“That too. No, I don’t... I don’t think I’ve ever really been attracted to a guy before.”

“But you’re into this girl.”

“I don’t know. Yeah, I guess.”

“So why don’t you guys meet up?”

“I’ve tried, and she’s tried, and I think we’re just... I think we’re both scared.”

“Just to be clear, this is on an emotional level? Not just a hook up thing?”

Janine wiped salad dressing off her mouth thoughtfully. “We’ve started talking. Like, texting about regular stuff, not just sexting.”

“Whoa. That’s intense.”

She made a face at him. “Don’t be sarcastic.”

“No, no. I’m serious. I’d be over the moon if Sherlock did the same. Texting me, and all.”

“Get his number, idiot.” Janine tossed her plate in the trash. “Ready?”

John nodded and followed her out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you who have left encouraging comments! It's nice to know that people are reading this :)


	7. Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's back with apologies and promises that she just might follow through on this time round. John tells her about Sherlock.

“Johnny.” Harry leaned against the doorframe. John was sprawled out on his bed, homework papers littering the sheets.

“Hi,” he said, taken aback. “How... are you?” He fervently hoped this was an acceptable thing to say. You never did know, with Harry.

“I’m fine.” She hesitated. “Listen. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“For, you know.” She chewed on her lip and gestured to his desk chair. “May I?”

He nodded permission; she crossed the room and took a seat before continuing,

“I always wanted to be a good big sister. Good role model, and all.”

“Okay.”

“You shouldn’t have had to go through all that. Seeing me drunk and vomiting at 3 in the morning when you were only in middle school... it wasn’t right. Dodging people’s questions and being forced to come to terms with this hellhole of a home life wasn’t fair to you. Not at all. And I’m taking full ownership of that.”

“Harry, someday apologies and acknowledgement aren’t going to be enough,” John said bluntly.

She cringed. “I know. But they count for something.”

“Not when I’ve heard this twenty times before.”

“Don’t be hostile, Johnny,” she said sharply.

“Do you mean it this time? Do you, really? Because I can’t fucking -” He tossed his graphing calculator on the floor with a loud thump and rotated so he was perched on the edge of the bed, facing Harry. “I can’t keep going through this. I get my hopes up and then you just - you just leave me in the dust again. You’re my sister. We were supposed to be normal.”

“But we’re not.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” Harry puffed out a breath. “Okay then.” Pause. “I... I do want to.”

“To what?”

“Start over. I want to start over.”

“Never heard that one before,” snapped John.

“No, really.” She grabbed his hands and forced him to look at her. “I’ve entered a rehab partial program. I signed the papers today. All on my own.”

“Really.” John refused to believe it.

She nodded. “I’m afraid I... I went to the doctor, and the neurologist, and it was a bit of a wake up call. My liver and certain parts of my brain are severely damaged from my... alcoholism.”

John’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline. She’d never, ever admitted to her problem. Call her an alcoholic and you’d end up in the hospital with a broken arm.

“So I’m starting tomorrow. It’s 9-4, like a work day. I don’t want to, but I don’t want to do this to everyone either. I can’t do this to myself and to the people I care about. I’m self-destroying, Johnny.” She looked bleakly at him. “I don’t want to be victim to this - this monster, any longer. I won’t. I can’t.” Harry shut her eyes for a moment, as though steeling herself for another confession. “I realized that I’m worth more than this. I am more than this. I can’t keep doing this to myself, scaring everyone half to death and just hiding away and using behaviors that have only fucked me over in the past.”

John was probably dreaming. “I...”

“I know that’s a lot all at once.”

“A bit.”

“Sorry.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “I just had to tell you. Maybe it wasn’t the best timing.”

John smiled tightly. “It’s okay. Hard to get the timing right for anything.”

Harry gazed at him now, rather too keenly for his liking. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

“I’m not an idiot. I haven’t been, you know. I haven’t drunk my entire life. You and I were pretty close, back in the day. I can tell when something’s wrong.”

“Oh. Right.” John sighed. “Things have been... confusing.”

“I see.”

“They’re just, it’s just... they’re too...” Pathetically, he felt himself choking up. Sherlock. They’d barely talked, and yet the goddamn gorgeous bastard wouldn’t leave his mind.

“Someone break your heart?”

“You could say that. Wasn’t their fault, though.”

“Do I need to beat them up?”

“Good luck with that. He’s pretty tall.” John braced himself.

Harry blinked twice, registering the pronoun, and continued smoothly, “I dunno. I may be under average height, but I’d like to think I’ve got some muscle.”

John couldn’t help laughing in relief. “Sherlock’s really skinny,” he allowed. “He’s insanely smart, though.”

“Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yeah.”

“I know him! Well, I knew his brother, Mycroft. We didn’t get on too well. I hear he’s going into some political career.”

John shrugged.

“But Johnny...” Her voice softened. “What did he do?”

“Nothing, really. I was kind of stupid and I didn’t say something when maybe I should have and... well, I think he moved on. Or something.”

“Are you certain? D’you want to elaborate, or...?”

John pushed the rest of his homework off the bedclothes and patted the spot next to him. “Ready to be a big sister again?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you leaving kudos and comments, and please continue to do so :) I'm thinking that I'll assess this fic by chapter 9 and decide whether or not to continue based on hits and interest level!


	8. Histrionics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Irene exchange harsh words. Irene unwillingly explains why she hid from Janine at the mall.

“He overheard us,” Sherlock fumed.

“He misunderstood,” Irene said firmly.

“Now he’s going to think we lied about the status of our relationship.”

“Not if you tell him.”

“You could try telling your mystery slut,” Sherlock said, and it was like a slap across the face. Irene felt herself clench the steering wheel, and she pulled sharply to the side of the road.

“She is _not_ a slut,” she shouted, trying to regain control.

Sherlock recoiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think -”

“Do you really think I am incapable of _caring?_ That you can insult someone I actually care about, for once in my life - and believe you me, that’s no easy feat for someone like me - and call them _that?_ Yeah, I’m a whore, I’m a slut, I can deal with that. I send naked pictures, I dress promiscuously. All of that is true. But you have absolutely no _fucking_ clue what this girl’s like. She’s - shit.” Irene slammed a hand down on the dash in frustration. “She’s beautiful. She’s warm, she’s really awkward, but that’s okay because I’m... me. She gets flustered easily and the little stories she tells about her day make me smile.”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered. “I really am. I just... I cannot lose John.”

“And I cannot lose this ‘slut.’”

“Fine.”

"Talk to him."

Sherlock snorted. "No."

"Then don't whine to me about it."

"Talk to _her."_

"I do."

"You know what I mean."

She did. Irene sighed and checked her cell. A new text had just come in and before she could read it, Sherlock reached over the clutch and snatched her phone. 

"'How are you? I've had a weird day,'" he read. 

"Give it to me," snapped Irene. 

He chucked it at her. "Terminate your histrionics and get me home, then."

"'Terminate your histrionics,'" Irene mocked in a sing song voice, and put the car into drive. 

* * *

Sherlock paced around Irene’s room as she unpacked from their shopping excursion. After several minutes of this, he halted and turned slowly to her. "Hold on."

“What?” she asked cautiously, back to him as she sorted through her lingerie drawer.

“Why did you hide from Janine?”

“I... no reason.”

“Mm.” Sherlock waited.

“It’s just that... she’s really pretty, okay?” said Irene defensively. “She’s really pretty and she’s really sweet and, I dunno, she’s just really... I don’t know.”

“So you have feelings for her.”

“It’s not going to happen.” Irene thought for a moment, then shook her head and busied herself once more. “Pass that hanger by your foot.”

“Why isn’t it going to happen?”

“It just isn’t,” Irene said irritably. “The hanger, Sherlock.”

He handed it over, then scrutinized her, fingers steepled. “But how do you _know?_ I fail to see the concrete proof.”

“If you really think that I’m oblivious to my reputation then you’re even more of a moron than I thought.”

“I thought you didn’t care?”

“I don’t. I am who I am. I’m happy sexting guys. I’m not going to change the way I dress. This is what I do, how I roll.”

“But?”

“But,” she sighed, “it makes me undesirable to many girls.”

“I should think that they would desire you more.”

“Not the straight ones.”

“Irene, I’m as far from heterosexuality as I am from cannibalism, and even I have an aesthetic appreciation for your objective attractiveness.”

“You should write a book. What to say when you’re seducing a girl.”

“Ah. But I am not, and never will, make it my goal to seduce a girl.”

“Touche.” She folded a pair of jeggings. “Girls frown upon sluts like me. I don’t care about being called a whore, except when it interferes with relationships that, until now, I didn’t even want.”

“You think Janine will judge you on your surface image.”

“Yeah.”

“If she’s anything like John, she is an extremely empathetic and kind person.”

“She’s a teenage girl, Sherlock. They aren’t particularly kind by nature. I don’t want to risk making a move and being shunned and ridiculed the rest of my high school career.”

“I suppose that is logical reasoning. So then you should stick to your texting buddy, right?”

“Drop it, Sherlock,” said Irene darkly, and for once in his life, Sherlock obeyed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for people who are reading and commenting x


	9. The Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter, but important. Janine texts the mystery girl and spills the name "Irene." The Girl doesn't reply.

Janine was up until three in the morning texting that unknown number. It had gotten to the point where she shut her eyes and those ten digits instantly floated into vision. Ten digits, lines of words, and the occasional nude photo. That was all she had of this girl, and it wasn't enough. 

They talked about random things. Favorite ice cream flavor, first kiss stories, favorite movie. If she thought about it, she might notice that these were, in effect, first date questions. Getting to know each other, sizing each other up. 

And then things got deeper. The girl talked about her own history, when she started this habit of sexting random guys. That she didn't regret it, but that she had to admit it was a sort of protection. When Janine asked what she might need protection from, and why being promiscuous with guys would help that, The Girl, as she had come to be known in Janine and John's minds, abruptly stopped responding. 

Tonight, Janine needed to talk about something. She needed to talk about seeing Sherlock, and Irene dating him, and how this thing for Irene had spiraled out of control so fast. How Irene was out of her league, so clearly out of her league, and it hurt. But then here was The Girl and damned if Janine wasn't just as smitten.

"There's this girl," she typed, then erased it all and started again. "I have a situation." Nope. "I need advice." Send. 

The response was instant. "Shoot."

Janine licked her lips. "I need." Nope. Delete. She didn't _need_ anything. "There's a girl at my school and I have a huge crush on her and she's out of my league." _And now I have feelings for you and you don't even want to meet me in real life._ Send. 

"From what I know about you, I'm pretty sure you're the one out of her league." A smiley face. How on earth was Janine supposed to interpret that?

Well, now she was screwed. It all tumbled out, fingers flying over the keyboard, thumb hitting send before she could regret it. "She's so gorgeous and she's beautiful and I just want to get to know her you know? I feel like we could have something and that's totally insane but I do I feel like we could does that even make sense? I just want to know her. I want to be with her and it's killing me because it's getting worse." Janine clenched and I clenched her hands under the blankets, waiting for a response. 

Seven fucking minutes passed before, "She's a lucky girl." Even over text it sounded... stony.

"What??"

"So you're in love with her."

Hadn't Janine just been pretty clear on that front? "I guess." _But I like you too._

"That's nice. Just her, then?"

"Idk."

Nothing for ten minutes. 

"Hello?"

Again, nothing. Janine wanted to punch herself. 

She rolled over in bed and decided to sleep. "I'm going to bed." Pause. Fuck it. "Look, it's fine, because me and Irene aren't going to happen and idk why I said that stuff about her to a stranger, not that you're a stranger stranger, but yeah. If I bothered you I'm sorry."

This time the response was an instantaneous "Wait what????"

"Did it not send properly?"

"No I got it... her name is Irene?"

"Irene Adler, yeah. You know her?" Oh god, did they all go to the same school? For all she knew, The Girl sat across from her in history class. "Hello? Do you have something against her?" What if they were friends and this girl would go tell Irene - ? Janine would be so screwed. 

She waited another half hour, but The Girl never replied. 


	10. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock talks some sense into Irene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much for the kudos and comments!

Sherlock wasn’t really sure when the change occurred. John was oddly careful around him the week after their mall run-in, avoiding eye contact and fleeing the second the bell rang. The only viable options were to wait and hope, and to give up. Sherlock favored the former. Still, it took a solid two and a half weeks before John would even respond to simple small talk, and even then he spoke stiffly, casting Sherlock strangely sad looks when he thought the junior couldn’t see.

But gradually, they began becoming friends, really friends, and frankly, Sherlock was on cloud nine.

It started with simple editing sessions on Google Docs. The chat topic quickly extended beyond comma splices to “how was your day” and Sherlock’s quips about Parlman’s relationship status. Somewhere along the way they began texting, hanging out outside of school. They took walks when they had shared free blocks; John gave Sherlock a ride home a couple times.

Sherlock had never been happier than in the presence of John, and it was almost to a fault.

He was dropping by his house to grab his laptop so he could go work at John's place when he noticed that the key wasn't under the rock. His parents never used it; Irene was the only one. 

"Irene?" he called, stepping inside. 

"Hey," she said, curled up on his couch. 

"Wait, are you okay?" He went to her side. Was she hurt? Had he disregarded her own feelings because their importance paled in comparison to John's? Still, she was his best friend, his first partner in crime. He was bad at sentiment but knew enough to know that he had not been a good friend. 

"Yeah, I just." She sighed. "I needed to come over. I thought you might be around. You haven't answered my texts."

"I'm sorry. I'm here now. Is that... satisfactory?"

It came to his attention that she was crying when she nodded at him. Eyeliner residue was already freckling across her chafed cheeks - idiot, Sherlock chided himself, for not having deduced immediately. She had been distressed for awhile. 

"What happened?"

She shook her head. "It's just..."

"Did someone do something to you?" he said urgently, the protective side of him rearing up. Irene may be his age, but in such rare moments of vulnerability on her part he felt much more like a big brother. "I know you dress inappropriately but there can be no victim-blaming -"

"Shut up, Sherlock," snapped Irene, and sniffled. "It's not like that."

"Oh." Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Then...?"

She patted the spot next to her and shifted to rest her head on his lap. "It's my girl. My phone girl."

"What about her?"

"I haven't talked to her in two and a half weeks."

"Why not?"

Irene wordlessly handed him the phone. "See for yourself."

He read the conversation quickly, then frowned. “She... knows you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know anything about her, and we haven’t talked since that weird conversation. She hasn’t tried to initiate. I haven’t responded. I don’t know... I didn’t realize how much I needed her. She’s given me something to actually look forward to every day.”

“Wait, just to clarify. You like Janine. You believe Janine would shun you if you were to make a move. You also like this mystery girl. This mystery girl likes you, which means you two know each other in real life, and you two have also not talked since she disclosed this information. Correct?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Right.” Sherlock puffed out a breath. “I hate to point out the obvious, but if not contacting her is this distressing to you, then why don’t you just go ahead and text her?”

“She wouldn’t respond. I already... it was rude of me, to disregard that. She probably thinks I hate her now.”

“You make the most hyperbolized statements. Dislike, perhaps. Hate? Because of an unanswered text? If you were just to contact her, then all of these” - he bit down the word “histrionics” - “feelings would go away.”

“It’s just so fucking stressful,” said Irene, eyes suddenly flashing with anger. “I don’t understand why I can’t just call her or why we can’t just tell each other - what if she goes to our school? What if we’ve passed each other on the street?”

Sherlock looked blankly at her. “You’re stating concrete possibilities as if they were questions.”

“God dammit,” said Irene. “You don’t understand! Everything’s all nice and dandy with you and John and now you...” Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip. “This isn’t me, Sherlock. I’m immune to feelings. I can’t stand girls who cry over relationships, who act like everything is so complicated when it isn’t. But this is. It’s so fucked up. I don’t know who I like, or who to talk to, or what I want, but then it doesn’t even fucking _matter_ because I’m not going to have either of them at this point. This coming from a girl who’s never wanted to ‘have’ another person before.”

Sherlock pursed his lips. “You have always told me to talk to John. Why can’t you talk to Janine, at the least?”

“Because what if she walks away?”

“Then she walks away. But I don’t think she will.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I know.”

“I can’t just talk to her, Sherlock.”

“Fine.”

“You don’t need to be a dick about it.”

“Okay.”

“It’s really not - I’m not that kind of person.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t normally strike up conversations about feelings!”

“Yes.”

“What do normal people even _say?_ Do I ask her on a date? I know how to sext and I know how to seduce but I don’t know how to... relationship.”

“Ah.”

“Seriously? You aren’t even going to jump down my throat for using a noun as a verb?”

“Evidently not.”

“What are you even _doing?_ Don’t grin at me like that.”

“I’m just waiting.”

“For what?”

Sherlock continued waiting.

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to talk to her.”

“Alright.”

“She might think it’s weird.”

“Maybe.”

“If I talk to her you can’t make fun of me.”

“Never.”

“I’m not saying I will, I’m just saying... if I do, you can’t prance around thinking you’re responsible and taking all the credit.”

“Deal.”

Irene sighed. “Okay.”

“What?”

“I said, you win.”

“Say it.”

“You were right.”

“No, the other thing. I am always right.”

“I beg to differ. What other thing?”

“Don’t beg, it’s pathetic.”

“What other thing?”

“You know.”

She did. With an even louder sigh, Irene proclaimed, “I am going to talk to Janine.”

Sherlock smirked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully intend to continue this.
> 
> If you haven't yet, I strongly urge you to check out my most recent Johnlock fluff series, "Feel This Magic." Any feedback there would be deeply appreciated.


	11. Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock don't talk. Janine and Irene do.

Working at John’s place didn’t particularly go as planned. Harry was having a row with her mother, and their family therapist was trying to subdue the both of them, so after taking one look and backing out of the room, Sherlock suggested they go back to his. Irene had left already; Sherlock’s ever-distant parents were nowhere to be found.

John then recalled Sherlock bragging about the quality of his scientific equipment, and asked about it, which led quickly to stories of six-year-old Sherlock wreaking havoc on the kitchen with his experiments, and then to John proposing that they try to recreate said experiments, and suddenly Sherlock’s meticulous house looked like the aftermath of a monstrous tornado.

“No, stop it, John, you’re being absurd - I didn’t sign up for this - mayday, mayday!”

John, giggling uncontrollably, grabbed another handful of baking soda and tossed it at Sherlock’s head. “Now you look like you’ve got bad dandruff.”

“You are being puerile and I cannot comprehend why I ever -” Sherlock suddenly launched himself across the room, tackling John against the couch and contributing his own cloud of powder to the mess they’d made.

They tussled for a moment, John wriggling around without actually making any effort to free himself, both boys breathless and laughing, and then the chortles subsided and suddenly Sherlock was just gazing at John and John was frozen in time and so, it seemed, was Sherlock.

“John,” said Sherlock.

John slowly, involuntarily raised a hand to rest on Sherlock’s neck, and brushed his other through the junior’s curls. “You’ve just got a little bit of...” His voice trailed off.

Sherlock was still staring. “John, I -”

“It’s okay, Sherlock,” John said hastily, panicking. He didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t know what he was going to hear, but he didn’t want to hear what he thought Sherlock might say, because admitting it was just too... too real, and he couldn’t deal with what he’d been feeling and John Watson was a goddamn coward.

An expression of disappointment flickered over Sherlock’s face; he tensed slightly and released John, who instantly missed the warmth of Sherlock’s body. “Fine,” he said, carefully smoothing his brow and assuming a neutral facade. “So.”

“Yes.”

Sherlock sat down next to John. “We kind of... well.”

“Had a food fight with the entirety of your mom’s baking supplies?”

“Yes, that.” Sherlock gave a short laugh. “It’s alright. We can go out and get some more.”

“What, now?”

Sherlock was already halfway out the door. “Coming?” he called.

“It’s nearly 6:30!”

“Supermarket’s still open. Come on.”

Grumbling, John went.

* * *

 

Janine was coming out of the locker room, ignoring her phone - she’d barely touched it since that humiliating confession (still, The Girl had no reason to not respond) - knowing that it was only her cousin anyway. John had been non-stop prattling about Sherlock, and she’d honestly had enough of the whole “but we can only be friends” bullshit because -

“Janine.” Irene materialized before her. “We need to talk.”

 _Fuck_. Someone had told Irene, hadn’t they? How had they known it was her? “It wasn’t - I didn’t mean to -” Janine stammered, starting to panic. “Please don’t think that I - I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“What? No, I’m not accusing you of anything.” Irene grabbed her wrist and said somewhat domineeringly, “Sit.”

Janine sat.

The junior cleared her throat and took a deep breath before saying, “For the record, I am only here because of Sherlock.”

“I’m happy for you two,” Janine blurted out. “You’re cute together.”

Irene raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re kidding.”

“No, why would I be?”

“You’re serious? You really - oh, for god’s sake.”

“What?”

“You honestly think that Sherlock and I are dating? After I told you about my sexuality?”

“I mean, people change. Things change. John said -”

“John misunderstood the situation.”

“Oh. So... you aren’t dating, then.”

“And to think I like you,” Irene muttered under her breath, then murmured more softly, “that said, I’m starting to see the appeal of ordinary people.”

Janine’s breath caught in her throat. “ _What?_ ”

“Nothing. Listen,” Irene turned to Janine and placed a tentative hand on the older girl’s knee, “this isn’t easy for me to admit, but I... I know we haven’t talked. And it’s fine and understandable if you don’t want me, but I just thought - well, Sherlock thought that it would be worth it for me to talk. To you. After I told him to talk to John so many times.”

Janine was definitely, definitely dreaming.

“I want to...” Irene struggled. “You should know some things about me first. Unless you’ve heard?”

“I don’t really keep up with gossip,” Janine replied in a strangled sort of voice. She hadn’t fainted yet, though. That was something.

“Oh. Well, the thing is, I have a bit of a reputation. I bring it on myself. I’m... promiscuous. I sext. I sext a lot. A lot of guys, a lot of random parties.”

Janine blinked. “It’s... fine. I know someone...” Not anymore. Irene Adler was sitting right here, saying that she was actually _interested_ , and The Girl didn’t matter. “I _knew_ someone. She sexted too, said it was a sort of protection, so yeah, I get it. I’m not going to judge you or anyth - what?”

Irene’s eyes had widened. Her grip tightened on Janine’s leg as she leaned forward and asked urgently, “Who are you talking about?”

“Just... a girl I knew,” Janine said feebly. “We aren’t really talking any more.”

The intensity of Irene’s gaze was doing things to Janine. Jesus Christ.

“It’s not relevant anymore. The point I’m trying to make is - hey, what are you doing?” For Irene had nimbly slipped a hand into Janine’s pocket and extracted her phone.

“Shh,” Irene said sternly, and a few taps later her face blanched, then started to flush.

“What? Don’t - give me that! That’s my own personal property and between you and John...”

Irene waved the screen in Janine’s face. “That’s your information? That’s your phone number?”

“Yeah, why?”

Irene just stared, and slowly understanding dawned.

“Oh my god,” whispered Janine, not sure if she should be laughing or crying or mortified or screaming because they all seemed to be perfectly viable options.

“You’re...”

“And you’re...”

They looked speechlessly at each other in something like amazement.

“So I’m not crazy.”

Irene grinned. “Mm... debatable.”

Janine shoved her, giggling. “Shut up.”

“But this... you know about... you don’t mind?”

"I would be crazy if I minded."

"I - you really...?"

"Yes," said Janine, unable to do much more than nod.

"Janine, will you... I'm really bad at this, shit." She ran a hand through her hair. "I'm not one for actually dating, but would you consider... it doesn't have to be a huge commitment, or anything. I'm not - Sherlock told me to establish -"

" _Irene,_ " said Janine impatiently, and kissed her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Sorry for the short chapter, but I was really excited about Janine and Irene's communication, as well as John and Sherlock's failed one. Which I am sure will be resolved in future chapters.
> 
> As usual, kudos and comments much appreciated. x


	12. Idiot Geniuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene and Janine start scheming. John and Sherlock still can't have a proper talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who have been commenting! I will respond to them all within the next week, I swear.
> 
> This chapter is on the short side, but life has been crazy busy and the only way I'll ever be able to update is if I decrease chapter lengths. Hopefully you won't mind.
> 
> Enjoy!

Janine really was a brilliant kisser.

Which Sherlock observed the second Irene walked through the door.

“You kissed her,” he said dully, staring at the television.

“So?”

“I believe congratulations are in order.” This in a pained sort of tone, his features pinched when he glanced up at Irene.

“So... not the same with you, huh,” she said, sitting down beside him.

He grunted and stood up, spinning round on a heel and beginning to pace.

“Did you...?” she asked tentatively.

“Talk? No,” Sherlock snapped. “I froze up, he stood there with his - his fucking blue eyes and - and he just _looked_ at me and I didn’t - he said he couldn’t - and I -” He threw his hands up in the air. “I give you considerable credit now, knowing the insurmountable difficulty of merely _talking_ to someone with whom you’re in love.”

“I’m not in love with Janine,” Irene asserted.

Sherlock gave her a look, then turned and said shortly, “No, I suppose your feelings for her can never aspire to match those of mine for John.”

“Sherlock,” said Irene softly.

“Don’t try to pacify me,” he hissed. “I don’t need your pity.”

Jesus. This was really upsetting, then. “I don’t pity you, I think you’re a great cracking idiot!”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. “Need I remind you of our third-quarter grades in calculus? If I recall correctly -”

“No, not academically, you berk. I mean, when it comes to people. You and I aren’t... we do not pride ourselves in being socially apt.”

“A fact which has been brought to my attention on multiple occasions,” spat Sherlock.

“He is clearly attracted to you.”

“You cannot guarantee it.”

“It’s _obvious._ ” Sherlock glared. “Yeah, I used your word. It’s my turn to be condescending now. Sit down,” she said exasperatedly, tugging at his hand. “Listen. You urged me to talk to Janine about my feelings. Sentiment, right? Now it’s your turn.”

“I _can’t._ ”

“Yes. Yes you can.” She seized him by the shoulders. “You are intelligent. You are my best friend. And if you do not grow a pair and talk to John Watson, I will personally slap you across those dangerously sharp cheekbones and continue to do so until you either do what you know you should or said cheekbones slice my hand in half, whichever comes first.”

Sherlock glowered.

* * *

“We need to get Sherlock and John together,” Irene said conversationally a couple weeks later. She and Janine were sprawled across the couch, feet and hands entwined.

Janine sat up so quickly and enthusiastically that Irene was almost bowled to the ground. “ _Yes_ ,” she all but shouted. “Oh my god, I was literally - I’ve been trying to talk to John for _ages_ about this and I can’t figure out how to make it happen.”

“What’s John said?” Irene asked. “I tried to interrogate -”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Janine pointedly.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way.”

Janine shrugged. “Worth it,” she said impishly, and Irene leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Okay, back to business. John and Sherlock.”

“What’s Sherlock’s deal?”

“The usual. He can’t talk because he’s emotionally incompetent so he freezes up and there’s the added layer of his attraction to John which is evidently _very_ strong, so that makes him nervous too.”

“That’s adorable.”

“You think nervous people are adorable?”

“No, that he likes John so much that he gets anxious being around him.”

“Does that mean I’m adorable?”

Janine grinned. “What, do you like John so much that you get anxious being around him?” she teased.

“Don’t be deliberately oblivious.”

“Oh, come on. You should know by now that I find you quite adorable,” Janine said.

Irene allowed herself to preen for a moment before turning back to the task at hand. “Alright. How can we get them to admit their feelings for each other, to each other?”

And thus the scheming began.

* * *

“Do you ever even _see_ Irene anymore?” asked John one day as he and Sherlock haunted their usual carole in the corner of the library.

“When I do she’s always physically attached to your cousin in some capacity. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. ‘Cause I barely see Jan either.”

“They’re a couple,” Sherlock said dismissively. “You know how couples are. Spending every waking hour together, holding hands, being affectionate, falling in love. Dull.”

Without thinking, John pointed out, “We spend every waking hour together.”

Sherlock blanched. He paused, eyes widened in panic, then said in a carefully blasé tone, “Yes, but that’s us. We’re...”

“Best friends,” John said quickly. It seemed the obvious answer in this weird Mad Libs game they were playing, full of constantly wondering what label exactly fit them and fruitless attempts to fill in the blanks.

This statement seemed to positively shock Sherlock. “Do you mean to say that I’m your...?”

“Best,” prompted John.

Sherlock stared.

“Friend. Yeah, of course you’re my best friend.”

Sherlock swallowed.

“Sherlock? You okay?”

“You’re saying that I, in fact, am...”

“My best friend, we’ve established that.”

“And all those other things?”

“What other things?”

Sherlock fixed John with his eyes, his beautiful eyes (they were really, _really_ beautiful) locked in a beautiful gaze and really he was so damn _pretty_ that John - oh. The other things. _You know how couples get... holding hands, being affectionate._ That. John for one wouldn’t mind that. _Falling in love._

“I, er.” He cleared his throat. “If that was a checklist, then I can safely say that I’ve got at least one item checked off.” The words spilled out before he had time for regret, and god he was really in for it now.

“I...”

Shit. John stood up hastily and grabbed his bag. “I’ll be - I’ll talk to you later. I have to go.”

“John, do you really - ?”

“I have to go,” John repeated dumbly.

“Your last statement is perplexing. Please elaborate.”

“You’re the genius, figure it out,” said John, and dashed out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep commenting as I read every comment even if I don't respond at the time! They make my day, and kudos are always much appreciated.
> 
> Again, chapter length will probably have to be truncated to around 1k words for the foreseeable future as I stumble through senior year and college applications. Bear with me, and I will continue writing this fic, promise!


	13. Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene and Janine drag John and Sherlock to an amusement park. A truce is made.
> 
> —
> 
>  
> 
> _“Well?” he asked expectantly._
> 
>  
> 
> _Sherlock’s mouth went a bit dry. “I...”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Yes?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“I have never been to an amusement park before, and I... I should very much appreciate and, I think, enjoy... your company. If you are amenable to such a... proposition.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _John beamed and it was brilliant. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the delay. Life has been crazy but I finally updated! I've been working on my [unilock fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2383694/chapters/5266559) simultaneously, so go check that out if you haven't already.
> 
> As I was writing this I realized that I made them very British but I think I originally placed them in an American setting. Oops.
> 
> These discrepancies can be fixed should I choose to go back and revise (which I most likely will end up doing) but for now just bear with me. Let's just say they moved here from Britain, yeah? Good.

“Irene,” Sherlock said warningly.

“What?” she asked, the picture of innocence. Well, as innocent as possible while wearing next to nothing and very vampy lipstick.

“Why are we going to an amusement park?”

“Hm?”

“And why,” said Sherlock, glaring out the window of the car as they pulled up in front of Janine’s house, “is Janine coming too?”

“Babe,” Irene called, ignoring Sherlock as he slumped down in his seat.

“Hang on,” Janine shouted. She spun around and appeared to grapple with something behind the door, resembling something like tug of war, except - oh.

John emerged, looking very disgruntled.

“Hi,” chirped Janine, leaning down to kiss Irene while simultaneously keeping an iron grip on John’s collar.

John sputtered. “Stop it,” he said, grimacing. “It’s still weird, you’re like my sister and I don’t - oi!” Janine smirked, having bopped him on the head, and finally pulled away from Irene.

“Okay, shall we hit the road?” Irene exchanged a conspiratorial glance with her girlfriend which was not lost on Sherlock. This was all ridiculous.

“This is retribution, really,” Irene explained, shepherding both boys towards the curb. “Your chariot awaits,” she added dryly, and when neither made a move she yanked open the door and shoved them in.

“Retribution for what?” asked John, scooting minutely closer to the side of the sedan and minutely away from Sherlock, who felt an unpleasant twist in his stomach.

“Sherlock stole Molly’s expensive forensics kit,” Janine explained as she started the engine and went into reverse.

“So, we decided the most natural punishment would be forcing you on a date.”

John flushed and said somewhat angrily, “This isn’t a date.”

Irene turned round and cast him a pitying look. “Honey.”

“Whatever.” He toyed with the window switch until Janine hit the child lock and he stared down at his lap. Sulking.

“Irene,” Sherlock hissed. “John is not enjoying this. Your little plan is clearly fruitless -”

“Hush,” Irene said, beaming. “Let’s put some Taylor Swift on, shall we?”

“Oh _god,”_ groaned John, and slid down further in his seat.

* * *

John did not want to be here. After nearly spilling the beans with Sherlock, he could hardly bear to look him in the eye, let alone go to a bloody amusement park with him. A date, if Irene was to be believed.

This was all absolute rubbish.

The drive was awkward at best. His cousin - _traitor,_ he thought vehemently - maintained her innocent facade, stealing kisses with Irene when they stopped for petrol.

“You are the spawn of satan,” he said conversationally when they hopped back in.

“Aw, Johnny,” came the flippant response, and he opened his mouth to yell at her.

“John,” Sherlock said warningly.

The fuck? “What?”

“You’ll only make it worse.”

John stared at him in disbelief for a full thirty seconds before shaking his head and leaning against the door. “I’m so done,” he announced.

Something like hurt flickered across Sherlock’s face, and guilt washed over John. But no, he thought stubbornly, no, it made no sense to try and recover their friendship, not after that embarrassing confession. His feelings were clearly unrequited, and that he would then be forced into a very small space with the bloke who’d rejected him less than a day previous was seriously pushing his limits.

“Are we almost there?” he asked.

“Almost,” Irene promised.

They finally, _finally_ reached the park and Sherlock leapt out of the car as if someone had just prodded him with a hot iron. Before John could say anything to fuck up the situation further, Irene seized him by the arm and steered him towards the restrooms.

“Listen,” she began, “you need to get your shit together, okay?”

He crossed his arms. “Is this interrogation _really_ necessary? I mean, don’t you get tired of it?”

“Nope. And don’t change the subject.”

“I told Sherlock I’m in love with him.”

“Come again?”

“It wasn’t... it wasn’t like that straightforward but I think he could... deduce.”

“What did you say?”

He recounted their conversation, and Irene’s face literally lit up, and John got even more peeved.

“That’s fucking brilliant, John! That’s - Christ, how is Sherlock going to - he must be reacting and -”

“You need to calm down,” John said. “You actually need to _calm down_ because you and Janine fancy yourselves to be matchmakers and you’re only faffing around but this is real, you know. We have feelings - at least I do - and right now you’re this close to seriously hurting them.” He threw his arms in the air in a helpless gesture. “If you two can’t stop, I swear to god, I will _leave._ ”

Irene sobered at this proclamation and sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry we got carried away. However, avoiding Sherlock can only worsen the situation. You know that.”

“Then tell me what I’m supposed to do!” shouted John. Several passersby gave him dirty looks. “Sorry,” he apologized loudly.

“Go on your date,” she said, nudging him back towards the entrance. “Let it go for now and act normal.”

“How d’you know Sherlock will act normal too?” 

She smirked and winked across the green at Janine, who had evidently also just given Sherlock a similar, if not identical, lecture.

John flipped her the bird and stormed off.

* * *

“I presume you’ve gotten it with both barrels from Irene,” said Sherlock, falling into step next to John.

“Yeah.”

Sherlock’s heart wrenched, once as John looked away and once as John turned back to face him.

“I’m sorry -”

No. That wasn’t acceptable. John needn’t do this, and Sherlock would not stand for it. “Don’t apologize,” he said sharply.

“It’s just that -”

“Stop. John.” He stopped in his tracks and cleared his throat, focusing very hard on the fake tree behind where Irene and Janine were currently spending gobs of money on a rigged game. “Please... you mustn't apologize. For anything.”

“I should’ve -”

“No, you should not. Whatever foolish notion you’ve got implanted in your head is just that: foolish.”

“It’s not foolish, I saw your face,” John muttered, then appeared horrified. “Sorry.”

Surely John was not so thick that he assumed his affections for Sherlock to go unreciprocated? Just because Sherlock had been wildly out of his depth when John made that bold statement did not automatically imply that his feelings were any weaker. As he gazed at John and the droop of his shoulders and the resigned puff of air that escaped his lips, Sherlock slowly began to understand.

“It’s fine,” John said, and turned to leave.

“John, no.” Sherlock grabbed him by the elbow. John started at the contact and allowed himself to be steered into a less populated area.

“Well?” he asked expectantly.

Sherlock’s mouth went a bit dry. “I...”

“Yes?”

“I have never been to an amusement park before, and I... I should very much appreciate and, I think, enjoy... your company. If you are amenable to such a... proposition.”

John beamed and it was brilliant. “Truce, then?”

Ah. That was the word. “Truce,” said Sherlock.

An impish grin crossed John’s face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh, wonderful. What imbecilic idea have you gotten now?”

“Race you to the ferris wheel,” John said, and took off running, and because Sherlock was absolutely positively insanely in love with his best friend, beyond all reason, he ran after him as, if he was being honest, he would quite like to do for the rest of his life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment below letting me know what you think and kudos if you enjoyed it! Additionally, feel free to follow my [tumblr](http://lostinsherlock.tumblr.com) for updates and more. Have a happy and safe holiday, everyone. x


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